This weekend, I’ll be rubbing elbows with talented writers, editors, and publishers at the 48th Annual Ozark Creative Writers Conference in Eureka Springs.
I think I’ll go incognito and dress as Hemingway, Faulkner, or Stephen King. They seem to have grown tired of my impersonation of Jackie Collins, except for that one guy who keeps pinching my rear.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the ring leader of our Merry-Go-Round of stories is Nell Fenwick Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
Reginald Hansen twisted one end of his handlebar moustache. This had become an auto-reflex when he was deep in thought—and lately he’d been thinking a lot.
A notorious liar, his mother urged him to take advantage of his talent and sell used cars. His father, a banker, insisted he study law and become a politician.
Defying them both, Reggie ran away to join the carnival. Normally, he worked as a barker, convincing people to play for stuffed animals in a rigged game.
Tonight, he’d check another item off his bucket list. So what if it was a kiddie ride. (100 words)
What happens next? You pick the ending. Does Reggie,
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This is the blog of a woman who is seriously on the edge and I mean right ON the edge…no, not there… just a little bit further… further than that…no, further still…just a tiny bit more… just move slightly to the right a little…no, that’s too much…just move a tad to the left…that’s right, just there…now you’ve moved too far to the left… Damn, what part of the ‘on the edge’ do you not understand? Oh, and her matricidal boy genius, come devil spawn.
Or the three people I guilted into reading this blog, whatever.
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